At the age of 27, Natasha is just a few months away from marrying her long-term boyfriend, Josh. Suddenly, he is called out of the country to take over the running of his father’s business. While he’s away, Natasha arranges a surprise wedding present for him – a portrait of herself.

The handsome artist who agrees to paint the portrait is Gabriel Owens, a gifted painter who is partially sighted. He is sarcastic and brash, and Natasha finds herself always saying the wrong thing at the wrong time.

It turns out that Josh isn’t the perfect fiancé that Natasha believed him to be and she is left reeling, her life in free fall. Does Gabriel have the tenacity and inner strength to pick up the pieces when he himself has so many insecurities and his own life is far from perfect?

Perfect Imperfections is the first book in the Moments series. It’s an emotional story, which can be read as a standalone novel. You won’t find a cliffhanger here, but instead a heartfelt ending that definitely won’t disappoint.

Laura Wells has a love of books, animals and, of course, Jane Austen. She enjoys spending her spare time with her family and two mad Shiba Inus. She lives in Staffordshire, England.

Laura and Judy are a mother and daughter duo; with Judy's love of poetry and writing and Laura's ideas, they work extremely well together. Time-travel and romance novels are their passion.

Cupboards bang as they open and close, followed by the clattering of cutlery and chinking of glasses.

“Well, I’m not exactly a connoisseur where wine is concerned!” I shout back. “But Mum always says keep red at room temperature and everything else shove in the fridge. Anything cold is fine by me.”

He returns a few minutes later with what looks like a large bottle of rosé and two not particularly clean glasses.

“Is this your way of getting me drunk and in the mood?”

I lift my eyes from the table as he unscrews the lid and passes me the bottle to pour. He sits at my side, squeezing my thigh between his fingers.

“You telling me I need to get you drunk to get you in the mood?” he whispers.

I giggle as he squeezes just that little bit tighter.

“Maybe it’s you who needs the drink to get you in the mood,” I add, gazing up at him under my eyes.

Now my hands are under the table and I’m squeezing the inside of his thigh; he doesn’t flinch in the way I did but takes my hand, very slowly running my fingers up the leg of his denim jeans. Then quite suddenly our hands stop. I can feel his hardness beneath my palm; I can feel as it grows. I gasp, holding my breath. I’m tingling inside. Surely, he must be able to feel my hand trembling as he inches his pelvis up into my tightening grasp.

“Now,” he murmurs, leaning closer to me, so close that his lips rest softly against my ear. “Tell me I need a drink to get in the mood,” he says, circling his fingers around my wrist, then very slowly moving my arm backwards and forwards.

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